


In Wolves' Clothing

by LadyMerlin



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Alternate Universe - Fairy Tale, Alternate Universe - Werewolves Are Known, Angst with a Happy Ending, Betrayal, Drama, Friendship, Hale fire, M/M, POV Switches, Panic Attacks, Romance, Spark!Stiles, Teen Wolf Reverse Bang, bamf!Laura, true alpha!scott, world building
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-16
Updated: 2015-08-16
Packaged: 2018-04-15 00:32:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,116
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4586166
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyMerlin/pseuds/LadyMerlin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A fire devastates the Hale family home, leaving only Derek and his two sisters alive. When Peter threatens to take away their most precious heirloom, and the last thing their mother gave them, Laura comes up with a plan, and it involves sending Derek into the wide world, on his own. </p><p>None of this seems like a good idea to him. </p><p>This is a story about friends, family and betrayal; about love, grief and healing; about how Stiles probably has the dumbest flock of sheep known to mankind; and about how everyone eventually gets their Happily Ever After. </p><p>A Fairytale AU inspired by <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Donkeyskin">Donkeyskin</a>, a french fairytale written by Charles Perrault.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In Wolves' Clothing

**Author's Note:**

> Created for the [Teen Wolf Reverse Bang on LJ](http://twreversebang.livejournal.com/)
> 
> The artist who inspired this fic is [aredblush](http://archiveofourown.org/users/aredblush/pseuds/aredblush), whose amazing art you can find right [here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4445528?view_full_work=true). Shower her with compliments, because without her, this fic would never have existed. 
> 
> To [Darjeweling](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Darjeweling/pseuds/Darjeweling), who beta'd this every time I rewrote it, and stopped me from doubting myself; Thank you. I owe you more than you know.
> 
> Any mistakes remaining are mine, and I apologise in advance for any tense nonsense. A lot of this was written while I was sleep deprived.

There’s a story about the First Wolf and the Mother Moon that their mother used to tell them when they were younger. It goes like this:

 

_When all things began, there was the First Wolf, who walked alone in the wild woods. She was the daughter of Mother Moon and Father Sun and she was the best amongst their creations and they loved her. The First Wolf could smell and see for miles, and run even further on her strong legs. Her jaws were as powerful as steel traps, and she was fast and smart enough that she never went hungry or cold._

_When all things began, there was the First Wolf, who walked alone in the wild woods. She was the daughter of Mother Moon and Father Sun and she was the best amongst their creations and they loved her. The First Wolf could smell and see for miles, and run even further on her strong legs. Her jaws were as powerful as steel traps, and she was fast and smart enough that she never went hungry or cold._

_But the First Wolf was the only one of her kind, and she was alone. There was no other wolf to hunt with, or to sing with, or to run with through the wild woods. The First Wolf was always alone. And in her solitude, the First Wolf would howl up to Mother Moon every night, begging and pleading for a companion to ease her aching days and her lonely nights._

_Mother Moon was heartbroken to hear her daughter crying in the night, and even though she was always separate from Father Sun, she spoke to him on behalf of their daughter. They could not create another Wolf, for there were rules they had to obey. But Father Sun and Mother Moon came up with a plan to make a companion for the First Wolf._

_There was a Man who lived in a town outside the wild woods. He had no family, no wife and no child. He too, was alone, and he hunted in the wild woods sometimes, and he always admired how the jaws of the First Wolf were as powerful as steel traps, and how she could run for miles, and how sleek and pretty her grey pelt was._

_One night, Mother Moon told him that he too, could be a Wolf, if he promised to be a good companion to the First Wolf. The Man was happy to promise so, for he loved and respected the First Wolf as a hunter, and he knew he could grow to love and respect her as a mate as well._

_Mother Moon and Father Sun wove together a pelt made of shadows and dappled moonlight, and it was as coarse as bark and as soft as heather at the same time. They gave the Man this pelt, and told him to guard it jealously, for it had magical powers which could turn him into a Wolf when he draped it over his broad shoulders. Mother Moon told the Man that this was the only way he could be a companion to the First Wolf, and the Man accepted the magical pelt with great joy in his heart._

_True enough, when he draped the pelt over his shoulders, he fell to the ground and grew paws where he once had hands, and a snout where he once had a nose. His ears elongated and grew to a point, and at the very end of his body he grew a fine tail. He had become a Wolf! The First Wolf was delighted to see another wolf in the wild woods, and they soon fell in love._

_The First Wolf did not mind that the Man had to take off his pelt sometimes, to walk on two legs; the Man did not mind that the First Wolf could not dance or cook or do any of the other things he could. They loved each other like the Moon loved the Sun, and when their first cubs were born, each one of them was blessed by Mother Moon and Father Sun, so that they could also shed their skins at will._

_Over time, as there were more and more wolves, and more and more people, this ability became increasingly rare. Children of wolves and people became impossible things, but their descendants still remain, with the ability to shift when Mother Moon is looking down and remembering her grandchildren fondly. But we still have these pelts, which allow anyone to turn into a full wolf, and this is how we know the story of the First Wolf and Mother Moon is a true one._

_Now, go to bed, little ones, and when you wake up, Mother Moon will be out from the clouds. Then it is our turn to run in the wild woods._

 

His mother’s voice had almost been hypnotic when she told them this story, especially on full moon nights – it was his favourite sound in the world.

 

And he would never hear it again.

 

-

 

The fire at the Hale house had devastated everything. It had destroyed Derek’s home and his family, and his entire existence had been burned down to the ground. Everyone in Argent Town said that he and his sisters were lucky, because they hadn’t been at home when the fire started, but Derek didn’t feel lucky. Derek didn’t feel like he’d survived the fire at all, because in all the ways that mattered, it was as if he’d perished in the flames with his mother and his father and Clarissa and James and Wes and Michelle and _everyone_.

 

He felt many things, but none of them felt like luck.

 

Everyone in Argent Town looked at the three of them with pitying eyes, and if Derek had a gold coin for every time someone told him they were sorry, or that things would get better, they would still have been the poorest people in the world, because they had nothing left but gold.

 

Derek _hated_ that.

 

He hated that the loss of his family was like a gaping wound, and that everyone in the world could see it, and knew it was there, bleeding and sore and raw beneath his clothes. Sometimes Derek hated that he’d survived, when everyone else had died. It would have been easier if he’d just died along with them; because there was nothing more stomach-churning than the looks of pity he got from people, from _everyone_ on the street.

 

Sometimes he wished he’d died in the fire, and sometimes he wished he’d never been born.

 

Most of the time Laura punched him out of it, and sometimes Cora made faces until he had no choice but to laugh, but he still wished it, sometimes.

 

Uncle Peter had survived too, but he didn’t really count, because Peter was only _technically_ a Hale, having married a human Alpha female. No one really minded the human part, or the female part. It was the Alpha part of the equation that had made everything a little bit tricky.

 

Although most human families didn’t have much of a ranking system, Peter had married into the Argent family, which had a strict hierarchy of its own, and Kate (‘Aunt’ Kate) was the equivalent of an Alpha. Like his mom had been. Kate had seemed _okay_ , for the most part. A little disinterested in pack business and Peter’s existing family, but she seemed to treat Peter well enough, and they tried to tell themselves that it was enough.

 

It was okay, they’d told themselves, that they’d let Peter go, because no wolf could belong to two alphas at once. It was okay that Peter chose his new wife, and his new pack over his old pack, and they had to respect his wishes.

 

Things would have been easier if Kate had been a beta, like Peter, because there were no problems when betas from different packs mated or married. But Derek had always felt that he’d lost his favourite uncle when Peter married Kate, and he’d almost never forgiven him for it.

 

That’s when things got complicated.

 

Laura was supposed to have been Alpha after Talia. She’d been preparing for it her whole life, ever since her eyes had flashed red when she was a three-year-old, grey fur-ball of a wolf. No one had doubted it for a second because even _then_ , she’d been a bossy little know-it-all who had the biggest protective instinct of all of his siblings and cousins – it was as good as tattooed on her forehead.

 

Contrary to what people in Argent Town said, Derek had _never_ been jealous of his sister. He loved and respected her, and he couldn’t understand why people would think otherwise. He knew she’d make a _great_ Alpha, and he trusted her to keep them all safe and together. His biggest mistake was assuming that Peter had felt the same way about _his_ sister; Derek’s mom, Talia.

 

Lupine culture didn’t care how old Laura was when she ascended as Alpha. Alpha wasn’t a status to be attained with age; it was a thing that you just _were_ , some deep instinct in your veins that gave you a drive to protect the pack above anyone and anything else. Alpha was a thing you _became_ in times of need, when the pack needed guidance and protection, and you were the best placed to do it.

 

Laura ascended during a hike in a forest, ten hours away from Argent Town.

 

It had been devastating, because the three of them had known immediately what it meant. They had rushed back to the house as quick as they could, but it hadn’t been nearly quick enough, and Peter had beaten them there.

 

The bastard hadn’t looked surprised in the least.

 

Unfortunately, Human laws didn’t look kindly upon women in positions of power. When their mother had been alive, it had been a distant problem; a theoretical issue, that Laura wouldn’t be able to sit as Alpha until she turned 21, even though Talia had declared her heir apparent when she was four. No one had expected that Laura would have to sit as Alpha before she had at least a handful of grey hairs on her head. It had been something their parents had been preparing for, because at least it was a problem they were aware of, and that they could deal with in advance.

 

Unfortunately, that just meant that Peter too, had had a chance to prepare for it. Peter, who was a Hale by blood, and a man, _and_ had more than a hand-full of grey hairs on his head. Peter, who was now the grieving, wealthy widower, whose wife had burned in the same fire that killed the Hale family.

 

Peter had cried in public, the way everyone expected him to; with huge tears leaking from his eyes at the most opportune moments, and masculine sniffles hiding razor sharp smiles when he thought no one was looking. Derek didn’t understand how anyone could think Peter was grieving, could be fooled by the charade when Peter’s socks still matched, and his vests complimented the blue of his eyes, and neither Cora nor Laura had combed their hair in days, and Derek probably smelled like a farm. Peter didn’t look like he was grieving. Peter looked radiant, and charming, and oh-so-deliberately pitiful.

 

Derek _hated_ him. 

 

No one could have known that Laura had brought the Pelt with her on the hike. A family’s pelt stayed with the Alpha until she died, because it was probably the most valuable possession which a Pack could hold. And Laura had taken it on the hike with her without telling anyone. Because Cora had asked to see her full wolf, and Derek hadn’t stopped her. Because they thought it would be fun.

 

And then their house had burned down, along with all their worldly possessions, including, and as far as anyone else was concerned, the Pelt.

 

In an ideal world, none of that would have ever happened. In an ideal world, they’d have all lived till a ripe old age, and Laura would never actually have had to ascend because their mother would have lived for _ever_ , and Peter would have been a good brother, and a good uncle, and Derek would never have had to face a world in which they were _alone_.

 

In a better world, they would have had time to grieve. They would have had time to process that their world was a shade darker, because they’d lost their kin, and their clan, and their home. They would have had the peace to recover from the violence of their loss, and maybe the town wouldn’t have smelled of smoke for months after the fire, in a better world.

 

As matters stood, they ended up sharing a room in one of the bigger houses in Argent Town, the mistress of whom had been kind enough to take in the new orphans while they were still in shock. No one expected the arrangement to be permanent, and they knew it.

 

Every day, Laura went back to the remnants of the Hale house on the high hill at the edge of town to look for traces of what had happened. It didn’t make a difference either way, really, but they couldn’t bear the thought of not knowing _why_ they’d lost everything, of what had gone wrong. Laura investigated as best she could, and Derek took care of Cora while their elder sister was gone. Because Cora couldn’t- wouldn’t be able to deal with it; with the smell of their mother’s blood on the wind and the ashes that lay thick on the ground and clung to Laura’s clothes and hair. Because Laura would probably be able to protect herself, but Cora wouldn’t, and needed Derek to help her. They were a team, and they stuck together, because they had no one else left.

 

That’s why they only heard about Peter’s threats a full day after they were made, when Laura came home one evening, looking somewhat terrified. In hindsight, it had been lucky Peter hadn’t threatened either Derek or Cora, because Laura had the coolest head of the three of them. If Peter had uttered a threat in Derek and Cora’s presence, they’d probably have tried to attack him, and then it would have been incredibly easy to get them locked up or executed, for attacking the new head of the Argent family.

 

“He wants the Pelt,” Laura said, “and he’s willing to do anything for it.” They were all sitting on the only bed in the room. The room was poorly lit with flickering tallow candles, and there was only one window on the side. Sometimes Derek felt like he couldn’t breathe in that room, but they had no choice.

 

“How does he even know it in the house?” Cora asked, and it was a valid question.

 

“I think he had something to do with the fire. Him and Kate,” Laura said, and Derek hadn’t been able to help but growl. He’d never been politically minded; he’d never understood how Peter could have even dreamt of hurting his own sister, his own blood. The worst part was that Peter hadn’t known they weren’t in the house. If he’d had something to do with the fire, he’d obviously intended for them to die in it too. And they’d each had to put up with over-dramatic hugs and crocodile tears while he thanked the heavens that they’d survived. It had become as clear as day that he wouldn’t have cared a whit if they’d died, or if they’d never come home from their hike.

 

He knew it, and Laura knew it, but neither of them were saying it out loud for Cora’s sake (who probably knew it anyway); their lives were in danger. Any day, Peter would make a move in a bid to get his filthy paws on their mother’s Pelt. Derek would die before he let Peter actually become the head of the Hale family. He knew Peter would have no qualms about killing them. Derek had lost everything in his life, and his sisters were all he had left. And if the only thing he had left was his life… well.

 

Laura punched him, even though he hadn’t said anything. Somehow she always knew when he was thinking dark thoughts.

 

“Can he actually become Alpha? If something happens to all of us,” Cora asked, “can he become Alpha of the Hale pack?”

 

Derek shrugged and turned to Laura, who was more likely to know. “Don’t think so,” she replied, but even she didn’t look too sure. “I mean, Alphas have to have _want_ to protect their packs. Can he really be an Alpha if he killed his own pack?”

 

“It doesn’t sound right,” Derek added, “but who even knows what the rules are? I mean, _we’ll_ know that he killed us, but how would anyone else know that he was behind it? Kate’s brother and her sister-in-law, and their daughter are all still around. It doesn’t matter whether he can ascend as the head of the Hale pack. If he’s the only one left, there’s no Hale pack to ascend to. Only the Argents.”

 

Laura was silent, and it occurred to Derek that she hadn’t thought about it that way.

 

“Then why don’t we all run away?” Cora asked. “If we have nothing left here, and he doesn’t want to be a Hale Alpha, and if he’s got the Argents anyway, let’s just run away. We can be the Hale pack, just the three of us, and we can live somewhere else.” For the first time since the fire, Cora sounded a little optimistic, like she really wanted nothing more than to run away from the place in which they had once been happy.

 

Laura broke her optimism, because Derek couldn’t bring himself to do it. “Because we can tell people about what he did, and destroy his good name and reputation. Because he wants the pelt more than anything else, because it’ll make him the ‘real’ Alpha. Because he won’t leave us alone, no matter where we go.”

 

“So what can we do?” Cora demanded, and Derek _hated_ that all the optimism had left her voice. “Are we just supposed to stay here and die?”

 

Laura blinked, and Derek tensed, because she had a look on her face like she’d just had an idea. “Well. There are three of us, and only one of him. We can split up.”

 

 _That_ is how Derek ends up leaving Argent Town on four paws, with the pelt draped over his shoulders and his vision gone completely grey. He has never worn the pelt before, but it feels like coming home in some instinctive way. He had never wanted to wear the pelt, and according to Laura that mattered, because the Wolf wouldn’t appear for just anyone seeking power. There had to be a reason to conjure the Wolf, and Derek’s reason was that he wanted to save his sisters.

 

 

His first reaction, when Laura had suggested it, was panic. He didn’t want to leave his sisters behind. He didn’t want to be alone. Even the thought of it made it hard to breathe, and he’d had to take deep, deliberate breaths to get over the shock, before he freaked Cora out. Cora had sounded just as terrified as he’d felt, because splitting up was the most counter-intuitive thing that they could ever have done, and it had taken Laura a long time to calm them down. But once she had, and once she’d managed to explain, it made sense.

 

There was only one pelt. Peter wanted the pelt, and he wanted power and respect. Laura and Cora would be able to charm their way into any number of places in Argent Town if they needed to. They could stay with a whole bunch of people who wouldn’t actually mind taking in a pair of pretty orphaned sisters. Laura was hard-working and Cora was smart, and both of them could be as sweet as honey if they wanted to. They’d be able to support themselves without attracting too much trouble.

 

Derek, who was a lot more sullen and a lot less popular, who had made small children cry with his eyebrows, could leave Argent town with the pelt.

 

That way, if Peter wanted the pelt, he’d have to go after Derek. But in doing that, he’d leave Laura and Cora alone in the town, where they could convince any number of people that Peter was a crazy killer who’d tried to harm them. If Peter stayed in town, Derek would be able to get the pelt as far away from his grasp as possible, and there would be nothing Peter could do about it. He’d be torn between the pelt and it’s power, and his already established reputation, and that would buy them time.

 

If Kate had been alive, the plan wouldn’t have worked, because she’d have sent her brother after Derek. But Kate was dead, and Peter’s position in the Argent household was still shaky, and his position in the Hale pack was always going to be shaky.

 

Laura’s plan involved burning Peter’s candle at both ends, and Derek honestly couldn’t think of a better one. Even though he _really_ didn’t want to leave his sisters behind, with the crazy bastard. Even though he _really_ didn’t want to be alone, out there, in the unknown. He knew he could protect himself, probably, but the idea of being so far from whatever was left of his pack was enough to send him spiralling into another panic.

 

Laura gives him a twelve hour head-start. He leaves straight after dinner Saturday one night, when everyone expected the three orphans to retire to their room. No one will know he is gone until he doesn’t turn up at the town meeting late the following morning. It is as good a plan as any, he keeps telling himself, as he runs further and further into the woods, away from his sisters and from Argent Town.

 

The wolf form is _incredible_. He feels like he is flying. The stones and broken branches don’t hurt his cushioned feet, and he feels like he knows exactly in which direction he is going, even though he cannot see the stars through the thick canopy of trees. He can _smell_ the rivers and rain of the foreign lands he is heading towards, and it slowly overlaps and overwhelms the smell of ash that he leaves behind. When he catches sight of himself in puddles of water, he looks amazing, sleek and strong and _terrifying_. No one would dare to stop him, and if they did, he’d rip them apart. And the best part is that he looks nothing like a werewolf.

 

He runs and runs and _runs_ , as far as he can before he has to stop and rest. And when he is rested, he gets up and does it all again. The cool forests turn into open plains, and then into jagged mountains. The scenery changes and so does the climate, until it is almost too cool to be sleeping out in the open.

 

So when Derek chances upon an empty shack in the middle of a grassy plain, and the sky is grey and heavy wet above him, he doesn’t hesitate. It is hardly a mansion, but at least it is dry, and the walls will keep the wind out of his fur. By then, he has been in the wolf form for so long that he doesn’t even remember what it feels like to sleep in a bed, or to walk on two feet. He has been eating, sleeping, hunting and running as a wolf, because everything is a little bit easier that way, and anyway, there has been no reason to turn back into his human form. It isn’t like there was anyone to talk to. He is alone.

 

The shack is a godsend, and there is even a nice bit of blanket that smells like love, even if it doesn’t smell much like home. He imagines that someone’s mother had loved them enough to make them that blanket, and they’d just left it there in the shack, where anyone could have stolen it. The imaginary person doesn’t deserve the blanket, he convinces himself, and they’d hardly miss it if he used it for just one night. Or two.

 

The next morning brings with it a herd of sheep, bleating so loudly he can hardly hear himself think. It is almost nice, because the smell of livestock is so familiar and nostalgic. Before the fire, he had always been in charge of tending to the Hale family’s sheep, goats, chickens and ducks. This herd appears to be particularly stupid, because they smell completely unconcerned that there is a wolf in their midst. It is almost comforting, and it would have been nice… if he hadn’t been _starving._

 

The sheep Derek catches for breakfast didn’t even run from him, but he only feels a little guilty about coaxing it away from the herd and quietly snapping its neck. He means to keep a wary eye out on his surroundings, but he is so engrossed in his food that he misses the sound of footsteps coming up behind him until the person shrieks, and Derek jumps in shock.

 

He turns around and snarls on instinct, knowing he looks absolutely terrifying, with blood dripping from his muzzle, coating his razor sharp teeth. The person, a boy on the cusp of manhood, looks absolutely outraged, and not in the least bit afraid. Just like the sheep around him. The sheep belong to him, judging by the way the boy smelled like the herd. He must have been as simple as his sheep too, because Derek knows he would have scared his own sisters with the way he looked, with his haunches up and his ears flattened in threat. He isn’t small, and his teeth are wonderfully threatening (Laura had always been jealous). The boy just stands there with his hands on his hips, a little bit like his mother had looked when she had been about to scold him. Derek thinks the boy would have looked perfectly at home with a wooden spoon in his hands.

 

“What the _hell,_ Scott!? How am I going to explain this to my dad! You’re such a massive dick, I swear to god, one of these days I’m going to tell your Mum that _you’re_ the reason Dad has to spend so long training the guardsmen, and then _she’s_ going to _kill_ you, Scott, you big dumb _mutt_!” Derek can honestly say that he has never been scolded by a teen-aged shepherd before. It is a novel experience, but he is sure that there has been a case of mistaken identity. He definitely isn’t ‘Scott’, and if the boy knew that he’d been shouting at a real wolf, Derek thinks his reaction would be hilarious.

 

He isn’t sure what makes him shift, in that moment. He is tired and hungry and half way through his meal, and he doesn’t know this person, but there is something about his warm brown eyes, his upturned nose, and his wildly gesticulating hands that is almost charming, and Derek wants to talk to him more than he’s wanted to talk to anyone else he’s seen in the past months.

 

It’s _possible_ that Derek hasn’t thought through the consequences properly, but before he can really process everything, he has already shifted. The boy’s jaw drops at the sight of the tall, naked man standing in front of him, where there had only moments before, stood a wolf.

 

“You’re not Scott,” he says, faint, and more than a little stunned, but still not very scared.

 

And the only thing Derek can think to say in reply is, “I’m sorry about your sheep.”

 

-

 

Derek hadn’t actually intended to tell the boy - Stiles - anything. He had just intended to turn tail and run until he forgot _everything_ and everything forgot _him_ , but Stiles is intriguing. He didn’t even blink at the sight of a wolf turning into a man. Derek’s mother had told him stories about packs which accepted humans into their ranks, and packs into which humans were born, but he’d never actually met a human who smelled like a _wolf pack_. All his siblings are— _were_ wolves.

 

Derek isn’t even sure how he knows that Stiles smells like pack – each pack smells different, and Stiles _definitely_ doesn’t smell like the Hale Pack. Underneath the musk of sheep and the tang of sweat and the sweet smell of hay and dried grass, Stiles smells like wolves and _people_. Like men and women and girls and boys and horses and chickens and – he smells like _a_ pack, if not Derek’s pack, which is more upsetting than it really ought to have been, because he doesn’t want to admit it, but he can’t even remember what his own pack had smelled like. He just knows that this isn’t it.

 

So Derek is justifiably cautious when Stiles invites him into the hut (which turned out to be his). Derek apologises for having appropriated his hut and his blanket (which Stiles’ mother _had_ made) for the night. He’d had no right to touch Stiles’ belongings, and he knows _he_ would have reacted badly if someone had touched the things given to him by _his_ mother, especially because he didn’t have many of those things left.

 

Stiles, miraculously, just waves the apology off, saying that his mother would have been delighted that her quilting brought someone at least one night of comfort, even if that someone was a stranger. Of course, Derek’s mother had been kind too, and charitable, but Derek has never – he has never understood how to – it is new; _sharing_ like this, with _strangers_. He has never before been the object of charity, and it is unexpected. He doesn’t know exactly how to react, after all the indifference he has experienced in his months away from his remaining pack. 

 

Stiles doesn’t smell hungry, but he isn’t healthy-fat either – Derek can see his collarbones and is bizarrely distracted by the bumps in his spine, visible through the thin fabric of his tunic. He doesn’t smell unwashed and dirty, but he doesn’t smell of the perfumes and lotions that the rich used either. Stiles talks incessantly, but doesn’t say very much, and he doesn’t seem to care that Derek is bewildered by the entire scenario. He is like a hurricane, and Derek is blown completely off-course.

 

When Stiles asks him to help him bring the rest of the sheep into the hut, he is wary, but complies. Stiles butchers and roasts it on a small fire with minimal squeamishness, chattering all the time. And then he shares it, giving the lion’s share of gorgeously roasted meat to Derek, pulling hot chunks of tender mutton out of the fire and piling it on roughly hewn wooden platters. It is unseasoned, but juicy, and _piping_ hot.

 

Derek hadn’t dared to light fires in the forest, because for months the very _thought_ of fire had sent a completely irrational fear shuddering through his bones. Consequently it had been a very long time since Derek has tasted cooked food. He falls upon it with almost unseemly speed. Stiles doesn’t seem the least bit perturbed, and just pours him tumblers of cool, sweet water from a huge clay pot in the darkest corner of the room.

 

Stiles is also worryingly good at extracting answers from Derek, who has never been chatty in his life. “Have you killed a man?” Stiles asks, out of the blue, because apparently that’s the kind of question he asked complete strangers.

 

Derek is been so taken aback that he answers truthfully, almost without thinking – “ _No!_ Of course not!”

 

Stiles seems to relax somehow, and it throws Derek even more off-guard, because he hadn’t even realised the boy was tense to start with. “Then why are you running?” he asks, pushing the last of the roasted mutton towards Derek.

 

This time, Derek isn’t caught off guard. He’s asked himself this question a hundred times before. “Everyone is running from something. I’m just trying to get away from my demons.” And it isn’t even untrue, exactly, which is why Stiles doesn’t seem to pick up on it. And then because Stiles is too damn easy to talk to, and his fat mouth has to go and spoil it, he blurts out, “and because there’s nothing left for me, where I come from.” Which was also almost a lie, but not exactly, because he knows that Laura, Cora and him were not going to live out their lives in Argent Town. Not if they had a choice.

 

“I’m sorry to hear that, Derek,” Stiles says, sincere and somehow, still unsurprised.

 

“How do you know about _wolves_ , Stiles?” Derek asks, emphasizing the word because he isn’t sure if Stiles knows about werewolves or whether there is something else in the water in this place. It is the one thing that has been bugging him since he sat down to eat with Stiles. Lots of strange things happen in the world, he knows, but Stiles hadn’t seemed even a little bit shocked to see a wolf turn into a man before his very eyes. He definitely knows more than he is saying, and that makes Derek _very_ nervous.

 

Stiles studies him, then shrugs. “My brother,” he replies. “Scott can turn into a wolf. He was bitten a few years ago and left to die, but he survived because there’s a lot of magic in the air around here. It seemed as good a place to set up as any, and now we live here.”

 

“Magic?” Derek asks, because it seems safer to focus on that, rather than asking about the bite. Stiles hadn’t mentioned _who_ bit his brother, but it is extremely unusual for a rogue Alpha to have bitten someone like that; and it is _horrific_ to have then abandoned them. Derek had never paid much attention during his mothers’ lessons, but he had heard enough to know that it was taboo to turn someone without their consent – it just isn’t done, because if the person doesn’t want to be turned, there is a higher chance of them rejecting the bite.

 

Stiles seems oblivious to Derek’s inner turmoil, and nods. “The town of Beacon lies on a hill a few miles from here. It’s the only hill in the area, surrounded by plains and rivers. It’s a town built around a Nemeton, which is--”

 

“A source of magical energy which calls to the supernatural, I know.”

 

“You do?” Stiles asks, sounded surprised, but not upset.

 

Derek nods. Apparently more of his mothers’ lessons had sunk in than he’d remembered. “My mother, she used to tell us—me stories about magic and history.”

 

The confused look on Stiles’ face morphs into delight, and it suddenly occurs to him that Stiles is _beautiful_ , and Derek is almost surprised he hadn’t noticed before. He’d been so intent on the food and then on worry that it hadn’t even – but now it is safe, and there is something gorgeous about Stiles’ amber eyes and the moles that dot his pale skin, and the way he speaks with his hands as much as he does with his mouth. Stiles doesn’t seem to notice his revelation. “Do you remember these stories?” he demands instead. “Because I’ve only got two books about magic and Deaton’s a close-mouthed butthead who won’t share his library with me!”

 

“Because the last time he shared his library with you,” comes a third voice, wary and new, “you dropped a book in the river, and made Jackson hiccup for _days_.”

 

Derek jumps, because he hadn’t even smelled or heard the new-comer coming into the hut. The shock of an unknown person would have been enough to send him into a panic attack, if Stiles hadn’t smelled as _delighted_ as he did. Stiles spins around, beaming, to face another handsome boy with a crooked jaw, dimples and thick curly hair, who looks back at Stiles like he defies belief. “Scott,” he starts, and Derek can feel his heartbeat slowing, and his shoulders slumping a little, because Stiles had mentioned his brother. “This is Derek. He’s a Wolf too! Also, Jackson deserved it.”

 

Scott reaches out and pulls Stiles behind him, with one hand fisted in the back of his tunic. He doesn’t look away from Derek, despite Stiles’ loud protests. Scott doesn’t look aggressive, or cruel, but Derek is a stranger, and the Mother Moon knew if his sisters had welcomed a stranger like Stiles had welcomed him, Derek would have gone in with teeth bared.

 

Derek gets up and backs away slightly, keeping a healthy distance from the fire and showing deference with a slight tilt of his head. Scott relaxes a little, but doesn’t let Stiles go, even when his tunic protests the mishandling. Both of them ignore Stiles’ vocal protests and inspired squirming.

 

Derek sighs when Scott doesn’t look away. He should have known that he doesn’t deserve to get a break, not when his sisters are fighting a battle alone, back where he’d left them. “I’m sorry to have intruded. I was tired from my travels. I’ll be on my way, I mean no harm, I swear it.”

 

Scott relaxes even further, possibly hearing the truth in his voice, probably relieved that he won’t have to deal with another wolf on his territory. Stiles rolls his eyes when Scott finally lets go of him and he stumbles a little, momentum carrying him further than he’d expected. Derek wants to laugh, but holds himself back, not sure if either of them would appreciate it. Scott doesn’t bother, snorting his amusement at his brother’s clumsiness.

 

“Where are you from, Derek?” Scott asks, accepting Stiles’ offer of now-cold mutton with only a slight wince. “Your dad will blame me for this,” he adds to Stiles, who shrugs unrepentantly and turns to bank the fire.

 

Derek watches Stiles, needing to make sure that the fire was properly banked, and that Stiles didn’t burn himself. Then he turns back to Scott and answers quietly, “I come from a small town called Argent, a few months away from here.”

 

Scott’s jaw drops. “You’ve been running for that long? You must be exhausted!” Even Stiles looks sympathetic, and really, Derek had never met people outside his family who cared so much about his well-being. It is… nice. “You don’t need to leave, Derek. We understand better than most the need to run from the past. As long as you do not intend us harm, you are welcome in Beacon. It is a small town, and we don’t have much, but what we have we are happy to share.” Derek doesn’t have the right words for his gratitude, so he nods and ducks his head, and hopes they will understand.

 

Stiles beams at his brother, and nods in agreement. “You can stay with me.”

 

Derek shakes his head. “I’ll sleep in a barn, it’s not a problem. I don’t want to put you to any inconvenience. I can sleep anywhere, it’s fine.”

 

Stiles scoffs. “Don’t be ridiculous! There’s plenty of space in my house.”

 

Derek shrugs, looking a little uncomfortable. “Your brother might not feel comfortable with another wolf in the territory, let alone in your house. It’s just instinct. I don’t want to disturb anyone.”

 

Scott raises his voice to speak over Stiles’ protests. “Stiles is a spark, Derek. He has magic. He’s more able to protect himself than anyone else in this town, trust me.” And for some reason, even though Derek doesn’t know what a spark is, and Derek doesn’t know Scott at all, he _does_. Scott _feels_ trustworthy, and Stiles… Stiles is different.

 

“My mom used to make the best blankets, Derek. You liked the one in the hut right? You’ll _love_ the ones at my place. You’re staying with me. No barns for you, my friend.”

 

Scott rolls his eyes and turns to Derek with a charming smile. “Good luck, Derek.”

 

“Hey!” Stiles protests, “Not fair! I’m not that bad!”

 

“Derek,” Scott continues gravely, turning to him and leaning in as if about to impart a great confidence. “He talks in his sleep.”

 

Before Derek even has a chance to formulate a reply, Stiles tackles Scott from behind with a cry, and Scott squawks as he goes down, the two of them rolling around on the dirt like play-fighting puppies.

 

After all the running and the fear and the grief, after everything he has seen and felt and lost, it feels like Derek has finally found sanctuary. He can’t _wait_ to bring Laura and Cora here, where they can build a new home.

 

-

 

Beacon is _tiny_ ; smaller than Argent by more than a half. There are only 10 houses surrounded by a high fence on the very top of a gentle hill, and it’s the most _indefensible_ place Derek could imagine, but there’s something in the air… something that makes him a little wary. _Any_ predator with sense would think twice before attacking the small compound, for some reason he is confident of that.

 

A she-fox guards the gates, wearing human skin, and the compound perimeter is lined with sentry-wolf paw prints. He can smell the ice-chill-silver smell of a banshee and the medicinal scent-trail of a herb-witch. The town smells like families and children and livestock and peace, and not in the least bit like fire and grief. It’s remarkable, and Derek feels at home almost instantly.

 

The wolves he’s introduced to were bitten by different Alphas at different times, and they each found their way to Beacon on their own, as if they’d known instinctively that they’d find a pack and a home waiting for them. Boyd and Erica and Isaac and Jackson are wary but not hostile, and when Scott rubs up against Derek, they seem to calm down enough to welcome him. They are as real a pack as any that were bound by blood. They’re all thrilled when Derek shows them his Wolf _and_ his werewolf, and he can’t resist play-fighting with Scott and Boyd, for just ten minutes.

 

He feels a little guilty that his sisters aren’t there with him, but they will love this new place when they come here. They _will_ come here some-day, even though he’s not sure how. He’ll make it happen, and he thinks everyone here will help him.

 

Stiles’ house isn’t large, but it isn’t small either. It smells overwhelmingly of Stiles and sheep and warm soup. Stiles feeds Derek (again) and introduces him to the small lamb that lives in the house with him (which explains the smell). She’s a small downy-white darling thing with absolutely no idea that Derek is her natural predator, and when she butts her little head against his knee, Derek gets the distinct impression that she’s trying to make friends. Derek doesn’t know what Stiles is feeding his herd, but he’s never seen such trusting sheep in his life. It’s probably an indicator of what life is life, in Beacon; _safe_. Derek is filled with a longing so strong that he can’t breathe, and thankfully Stiles doesn’t seem to notice his momentary weakness.

 

 

Stiles brings him around town, introducing him to Lydia (the banshee), Kira (the Fox) and Deaton (the herb-witch). Stiles introduces him to a medicine-woman who smells of food and milk and comfort, and not of magic at all, and her presence doesn’t make sense until Stiles explains that Melissa is Scott’s mother. Stiles shows him the livestock and the gardens and the communal pantries and kitchens, telling him that there are very few rules in Beacon, and that as long as he did not take without giving, and did not hurt the townspeople, they would be fine.

 

Derek doesn’t have any problems with that. Everyone seems friendly and welcoming, and he can really see himself setting up a home here.

 

Thankfully, Stiles puts him to work before he can think too much about what he has lost, and the days melt away into months. He stops counting down to Laura’s 21st birthday, even though it never quite leaves his mind, that he’s not allowed to settle, and that things aren’t done yet. That his sisters are still in Argent and Peter’s still out there, and that his family is dead. But living with Stiles helps. The work helps.

 

Some days Derek helps Stiles with the sheep, and they laze in the heathery meadows and make sure none of the sheep fall into holes or rivers. Other days he helps in the kitchen, because he had always loved cooking with his father, and it wasn’t even a hardship.

 

And sometimes, he helps Scott to train the pack. They’re all remarkably strong and resilient, but he’s a born-wolf, and there are some things that they have to be taught because they were not born knowing. He teaches them to scent feelings from distances, how to be quick and quiet, and how to run faster and hide when confronted by hunters. And with Stiles taking notes furiously, he tells them the same stories his mother used to tell them, about history and magic and myth, so that they can know about the Mother Moon and Father Sun and their favourite daughter too.

 

Life in Beacon is nice, and with some help, he heals.

 

And Stiles is a huge contributor to Derek’s recovery. Stiles; who smells good and shares his food and his home and his hearth with Derek on cold nights; who doesn’t flinch when Derek’s teeth get close to his bare skin; who is kind and funny and so _easy_ to be with, that there are hours when Derek goes without even thinking about what he’s lost. He never thought it would happen.

 

When he does think about his pack, and his sisters, and his mother, and he _aches_ with loss and yearning for what he once had, Stiles is there for him. He sits with Derek for hours on end, scratching his ears and carding long fingers through his hair and marking him with his scent and talking until his voice goes hoarse, and the panic in Derek simmers down. It turns out that Stiles is good at miracles of all sorts.

 

It’s even a new experience, not having to hide the wolf. No one seems the slightest bit concerned when he wanders around Beacon in his Wolf form. A small fox-child even comes out to play with him, and it’s such a novel thing to not only be accepted, but to be _welcomed_. Argent Town had never welcomed the Hales, but it had never mattered because they’d had each other. And after the fire, the three of them had experienced loneliness for the first time, and it has been _crushing_. He cannot wait to bring Laura and Cora here, because he knows they’d love this pack too, with all its affection. 

 

And they clearly care for him, which he had honestly not expected. Melissa takes care to save him a glass of fresh milk every night, and Deaton makes him sleeping draughts when he has bad dreams, and Erica makes him braid her hair, which he is more grateful for than he knows words can express. Scott spars with him and listens to him like Derek is his older brother, which is- which is simultaneously amazing and heart-breaking. Jackson mocks him and makes him feel like a part of the pack, and Boyd tells _him_ stories about his younger sisters, whom he’d also left behind.

 

More than anyone else, Stiles cares for him. Stiles feeds him regularly, even though he forgets to eat, himself, and he makes sure that Derek wakes up in the morning and goes to bed at night, instead of staying awake at all hours, worrying about Laura and Cora. Stiles helps him think through his plans, and reassures him that his sisters are probably fine, and talks him down from his panics. Stiles listens quietly when Derek is finally ready to share the story of what happened to the rest of his family, and offers him a shoulder to cry on, and a bed to share when he has bad dreams. And when they’re done talking about sad things, they talk about the future, about happier things, about family and love and life. Before he’s realised it, Stiles has become his Northern Star, and he is as constant as the seasons and as reliable as the tide.

 

And when he and Stiles are curled up in bed after a long day of work, and Derek’s nose is buried in the base of Stiles’ neck, and Stiles’ long fingers are tangled in his hair, drawing lazy patterns in his scalp, and they’re pressed skin to skin, chest and hip and thigh, Derek realises he is more content than he remembers having been in a long time, and _months_ go past.

 

Because Derek’s life is the way it is, that’s when everything goes to hell.

 

Scott bursts into the house, which in itself is not unusual, save for the look of panic on his face, and the fact that he’s breathing hard, like he’d been running. Both Derek and Stiles tumble out of bed without hesitation, and before Stiles can open his mouth to ask if Kira is alright, Scott says, “there’s a messenger for you, Derek.”

 

Derek doesn’t even have to think before he’s following Scott as he runs back towards the guard house. He doesn’t even have to turn around to know that Stiles is right behind him, mountain ash in hand.

 

Kira’s standing at the gates with her sword unsheathed, and it’s the first sign that something’s terribly wrong. Kira is an excellent judge of character, and it says something that she’s not put her weapon away. The man on the horse is just that; a man, with no hint of magic or otherness about him, that Derek can smell. He smells of exhaustion and stress and little else. “Derek Hale?” he asks, and Derek nods.

 

“I bring a message from your Uncle Peter. Your sister. She has taken ill.”

 

“Laura? Ill?” he demands, because that doesn’t sound right at all. He’s never known Laura to be ill in her entire life – she’s always healed quickly, from _everything_ , her alpha instincts overcoming any physical shortcoming so as to never leave the pack short one member; _vulnerable_.

 

The messenger shakes his head, looking genuinely regretful, and Derek feels a sliver of ice-cold fear creep up his spine. “It’s your little sister, Cora. She was injured in the forest, and she’s not healing.”

 

And it was like the entire world came to a screeching halt around him, and his mind went blank. A high whine built in his ears and it took him a minute to realise he was the one making the sound. Stiles’ hand was steady on his shoulder and that was the only reason he didn’t collapse to the ground, his knees crumbling beneath the weight of panic.

 

“Where is she?” he hears Scott ask, and Derek is grateful that he’s taking charge, because it’s like Derek’s forgotten language and his tongue is thick and swollen in his mouth, and he can’t _breathe-_

 

“ _Breathe_ Derek, take a _deep_ breath in, come on, breathe with me,” he hears Stiles talking in his ear; his voice is as steady as the ground and hands are squeezing Derek’s, the sharp pain of nails digging into his skin bringing him back from the yawning chasm of panic.

 

“Stable your horse, Messenger, we will give you shelter for the night. Tomorrow Derek will ride with you,” Derek hears Scott say, and even though he wants to leave right _now_ , he knows it’s smarter to wait till the morning, so he can pack some supplies and hopefully avoid getting lost on the way back to Argent. But that’s all he hears before Stiles starts guiding him back home-to his house, with Derek’s leaning heavily against his shoulder as if Stiles is the only thing that can keep him up.

 

He moves to start packing the moment the door is closed behind them, but Stiles stops him, and Derek feels an uncharacteristic flare of irritation. Can’t he see that he needs to be quick? That Cora needs him? Stiles has a look of sympathy on his face, and it should irk him, but it doesn’t. Derek just feels helpless.

 

“We’ll pack, but you need to sleep Derek,” Stiles says, sounding perfectly reasonable.

 

“I can’t,” Derek replies, because he really can’t. Not now that he knows Cora is hurt. He doesn’t even understand how Stiles is expecting him to calm down.

 

Stiles sighs and rubs his shoulders. “Something’s not right about this, Derek.”

 

Derek snorts, because yes. His family is dead, and he’s not heard from his sisters for months. Something is definitely not right with the scenario. Stiles stills, and moves his hand away from Derek’s shoulder, like he can sense how his mood has changed, but he doesn’t leave. “Think about it, Derek. Do you even know this man?”

 

Derek shakes his head, but Stiles doesn’t let him speak, interrupts him, and Derek feels another frisson of irritation run down his spine. “Would Laura send a man you don’t know to get you? Without a letter or some sort of symbol that she’s sent him? Can you even smell her on him? This whole thing stinks to me, and it feels like a trap, Derek, _please_.”

 

Derek growls, and Stiles stills even further, but doesn’t shift away. “Derek, please. I care for you but you need to think--”

 

And Derek opens his mouth and words come out, almost against his will. He knows his eyes are glinting gold with anger when he says, “I _am_ thinking, Stiles. And do you want to know what I’m thinking?” he asks, more cruel than he knew he could ever be. Stiles doesn’t reply, but Derek carries on anyway. “I’m thinking that you’re jealous.”

 

Stiles flinches so hard that Derek can feel it, like Derek thrust a cattle prod at him, and he swears it’s not Derek who feels a small surge of satisfaction at the reaction, _but it is_ , and he continues because now that he’s started, he can’t stop himself. “You’ve got no family, do you? Scott’s your brother, but he’s not your blood, and now he’s got Kira so he doesn’t need you. And there’s a pack, but they’re Scott’s pack, and not yours. I think you’re jealous that at least some of my family is alive, and yours isn’t. You’ve got no one, and I think you’re jealous.”

 

Stiles is ashen, and he looks ten years older and a hundred times sadder, and Derek regrets it almost the moment he says it, but it can’t be taken back. Maybe he’d been thinking about it for the longest time, about how Stiles always talked about his dad but how Derek had never seen him, and Stiles pretty much lived on his own in Beacon, and how there were no pictures or indications that anyone else had ever lived with him. How Stiles never smelled like anyone except the townspeople and sheep, and how he sometimes mumbled about his father in his sleep and woke up smelling like grief. 

 

And he knew he had overreacted, because he missed his sisters like they were missing limbs, and he desperately wanted to see them again, and he _knew_ that Stiles hadn’t deserved it, but he’s not making eye-contact with Derek, and there’s no time, no _time_ to apologise and to tell Stiles that he didn’t mean it, no _time_ to tell Stiles what he really meant; that he didn’t want to leave and that he was sorry and so _scared_ –

 

Nothing good in Derek’s life has ever lasted anyway.

 

He doesn’t bother packing, like he’d thought he would. He isn’t going to wait for the messenger, and werewolves are perfectly capable of seeing in the dark. He stuffs his things in a pack and leaves it in a corner of Stiles’ room- _their_ room, even though he’s not sure whether Stiles will take it as a sign that his things have been discarded, or whether he’ll understand that Derek means to come back. It’s out of his hands now.

 

He folds the pelt into a neat square and leaves it under Stiles’ pillow – the one on the right of the bed – and hopes beyond all hope that Stiles _gets_ it. That the pelt is the third most precious thing in his life, apart from his sisters, and Stiles himself. He leaves it there, but takes one of Stiles’ scarves for luck (and so that his scent can forever remain with Derek), and then he’s gone.

 

-

 

“Scott, Derek left.”

 

“I know. You know he didn’t mean anything he said, right?”

 

“I know. It hurt, though.”

 

“Whenever I say something hurtful, Kira says a little violence always makes her feel better.”

 

“The only person I want to hit is Derek.”

 

“Well, better get ready then. We’ll go after him.”

 

“We?”

 

“Of course, ‘ _we_ ’, brother. It’s a good thing your father’s about to arrive. We’ll go together.”

 

“Thank you, Scott.”

 

-

 

Derek hardly remembers the run back. He runs so long and so fast that the passing of days becomes meaningless, and he doesn’t know where his strength comes from, but the anger is just _there_ , in the back of his mind, lapping his every step. He knows he was supposed to have waited for the messenger, but Stiles was right (the thought of Stiles hurts, the thought that he’d thrown his friendship with Stiles aside for _nothing_ hurts), and Derek didn’t trust the unknown messenger, and his _pack_ was in danger, and he trusted nothing but his own nose, and his own instincts to get him to them.

 

He doesn’t remember where he goes, and doesn’t remember what he thinks, but the Mother Moon must have blessed him with wings because he’s in familiar territory sooner than he expected, and the air still smells like ashes, even though it’s been months.

 

He hasn’t lost _all_ sense though, and he lurks outside town for a while before he decides to _finally_ make a move. As it turns out, his caution makes no difference.

 

Peter is on him the moment he steps within the town limits, and Derek doesn’t remember much other than being attacked on all four sides, by people holding crossbows and knives. He doesn’t remember much after going down hard, or the feeling of dirt in his face. He can only think of how, after everything, Stiles had been right.

 

-

 

Laura has had it up to _here_ with Peter’s bullshit. He eased up a little bit when he realised that she and Cora didn’t have that damn pelt, and that they really didn’t know where Derek had gone. It had all gone according to plan for a couple of months, and the worst thing Laura and Cora had had to deal with, with Peter fawning and simpering over them, and pretending that he loved them when he was just making thinly veiled threats under his breath.

 

He didn’t even break into their room, which was a decency Laura hadn’t thought they’d be afforded. Wolves were fiercely territorial creatures, and even though they’d been downgraded significantly after the fire, the room was still _theirs_. Any intrusion would have been the worst sort of violation, and that kind of thing just wasn’t done.

 

Laura very carefully doesn’t think about how setting entire families on fire isn’t _done_ either; Cora was either seriously in tune with her, or was slowly developing mind-reading powers. Neither option was comforting.

 

And they survived. Argent town wasn’t the nicest place to be, not with the memory of their pack still lingering around every corner, and it wasn’t like there was much of a future, but there was a sense that things weren’t quite _done_ , yet. That there was still business left unfinished, because Derek wasn’t there, and Peter was, and the pack bonds were out of sync, even taking into account the fact that more than eight-tenth of their family had been killed in a single sweep.

 

But when Laura wakes one morning with the scent of Derek in her nose, she knows that something is terribly wrong. Derek isn’t supposed to be around town. Derek is supposed to be as far away as possible. She hopes that Derek’s resolve has broken, and that he’s come back of his own free will, because the alternative is almost unthinkable. Derek is an idiot, he always has been. She isn’t able to convince herself that Derek was alright, because she can still smell the faint scent of distress on him.

 

The problem with having sent her brother away for such a long time was that, even though she instinctively knew the smell of family, she’d lost track of him as an individual. Where previously, she would have been able to track him by his individual heartbeat, she just isn’t sure. And the scent is faint enough that she can tell he isn’t in town. It did not bode well, because the scent trail she follows, after waking Cora and putting her on full alert, makes it feel like Derek had skirted around town a little bit, and then passed through to the other side, right through the centre of town.

 

And Peter is there at breakfast, smug and confident, and she wants to _bite_ him sometimes, to wipe that look off his face. It was getting harder and harder to control herself, but now that Derek is here, and something has happened to him, she is distracted.

 

It takes her some time to figure out where Peter is holding him, and she wants to have been surprised, but she isn’t, when she realises that the bastard has stashed her little brother away in the hidden caves in the centre of her property – the Hale property. And as if that isn’t bad enough, she can catch the scent of another pack closing in fast, and she is _torn_ between sending her little sister to face off the intruders, and sending her little sister to face off her insane uncle. She does _not_ want to be the only surviving Hale.

 

In the end, the decision is taken out of her hands when she runs right into the pack herself, on her way towards the caves where Derek is being held. Cora circles around to stand behind her, because of _course_ it was too much to have expected her to stay at home, like she’d asked.

 

The pack smells wary, and foreign, but not threatening per se. There are a handful of wolves, an alpha at the head, and a couple of humans, but there is also a mishmash of other creatures as well, and Laura is almost confident that the girl with the reddish-gold hair is a banshee.

 

“Who the heck are you? Why are you on Hale territory?” she demands, because banshee or not, humans or not, she needed to go save her brother.

 

The younger human, a tall, slender male with dark hair steps forward. He doesn’t smell worried at all. “Peace, Laura. We’re here to help you with your brother, Derek.”

 

Cora snarls and Laura steps on her foot. This is not the time for grandstanding. “How do you know Derek?” she demands, because no way was she going to take this guy’s word for it.

 

He smiles, and he smells dangerous, like lightning storms and cold. “He was granted sanctuary with our pack, in our town. He’s been living with us for the past few months. There is space for him, if he wishes to return,” the boy says, almost stiltedly formal, “and there is space for you too, if you so choose.”

 

Nothing in the boy’s words rings untrue, but there is something about him that makes Laura’s hair stand on edge. She doesn’t want to answer, but she doesn’t want to turn down their help either; not when it looks like they sincerely want to help Derek. Her mother had always told her that any port would do in a storm, and she isn’t going to turn them down.

 

“We will discuss this later, Mage,” she guesses, and wrongly so, judging by the slight twitch on his face. “Or whatever you are. Right now Derek is in trouble.”

 

The mage nods, and turns to the Alpha wolf standing beside him, with floppy brown hair curling into glowing red eyes. “We know. Can you lead us? We are unfamiliar with this territory.”

 

Laura studies him and his pack carefully.

 

“We have something of yours,” the mage says. He opens his pack and pulls out… the pelt, her mothers’ _pelt_ , and it was so utterly unexpected that—

 

The mage continues, as if oblivious to her turmoil, but with so many wolves and other supernatural creatures in the pack it is unlikely that he was genuinely unaware. She doesn’t understand how these people have come by the pelt – Derek would never have – it wasn’t –

 

“Derek has told us about your troubles. We were expecting you to send word and we had been making accommodations in our town, in case you arrived at short notice. But there was a messenger who rode into town in the night. A single human male on a dappled horse. He said he that Cora had been hurt, and that she was not recovering.” Everyone eyes Cora, who looks uncomfortable with the attention. “He ran off before we could stop him.”

 

Laura heaves a sigh. “Sounds like my brother.”

 

The mage snorts a laugh, but there is something a little sad about him, and it makes her sad too. “Either way. The pelt might be useful to you, so we brought it along.”

 

Laura accepts the pelt reverently and shifts as quick as she can. The other alpha follows suit, turning into a wolf instead of a werewolf like the rest of his pack, and it’s a shock that he doesn’t need a pelt to make the change, but they really didn’t have the time to discuss it. By then, it has been days since Derek was taken, and she is terrified that there isn’t any time left.

 

“Peter, the one who’s got Derek, he was my mother’s brother. He married the Argent heir, but she died in the fire with everyone else. He’s after the pelt. I’m not sure how long he’s had Derek, or what he’s been doing, but they’re in there. He’s sharp and he’s fast, and I can smell at least fifteen other hunters with him. He – he’s been very smug lately. And the Argents have been increasingly threatening. He’s got a plan up his sleeve. Be careful, and watch your back,” Laura whispers under her breath, trusting those who could hear her to pass the word to those who couldn’t.

 

Then she turns to the mage, who eyes her warily. “I don’t know who you are, mage, but you smell like my brother, and not of his fear. If I don’t come out of this—” she starts, and cuts him off when it looks like he’s going to interrupt. “If I don’t come out of this, you take care of my brother and my sister. You take them into your pack and you watch over them, and if you don’t, I swear I will come back from the afterlife and _end_ you.”

 

Oddly enough, the threat makes him smile a little. “Stiles,” he says, nonsensically, before rushing to explain himself. “My name is Stiles, and you’re exactly how Derek described you.”

 

Laura wasn’t an adult herself, but she’d known her brother for his entire life, and that _tone_ of fondness meant only one thing. Still, they hardly had time to think about _that_. Hopefully her baby brother would have the rest of his life to figure it out.

 

The rest of the run to the caves is a blur, and Laura only just remembers to wait for the rest of them before charging in. The tall human in a suit of armour, who has remained quiet till then, unsheathes a long blade, a sword, with strange markings along its length, smelling sharply of wolfsbane. Something about the sight raises flags in Laura’s mind, a strong sense memory that’s on the tip of her tongue, like she’s seen this man before, but she doesn’t have the time or the patience to stop and think.

 

On her signal, they charge into the cave, and from there, everything moves very quickly. Each one of them fights with their own weapons, to their own strengths. The armoured man wields the sword like it is an extension of his arm. Anyone who comes into contact with the sword goes down, and doesn’t get up. The banshee has a set of daggers which she sends flying, and calls back into her palms, with magic. The wolves, like her, fight with their claws and their teeth, and it’s almost achingly obvious that Derek has taught this pack how to fight. It’s the final thing that convinces Laura that she had chanced upon allies in the forest, and that her luck was finally turning up.

 

She stops doubting the foreign pack, and flings herself into the melee, Cora raring to go at her back. The caves are chaotic, and despite the dim light, Laura can see that the tide is turning, and that Peter’s men are heavily outnumbered. Stiles is nowhere to be seen, but she trusts that he’s gone after Peter and her brother, because he’d had determination written all over his face. Hopefully she and Cora will be around to tease him for that later, but for now, there is nothing she can do but fight.

 

-

 

Stiles slips away from the melee almost as quickly as it starts. He doesn’t have the physical strength to be of any use in close combat, and magic is always a gamble when it could bounce off any solid surface and hurt members of _his_ pack, instead of the enemy.

 

There is only one passage leading deeper into the caves, and Stiles instinctively knows that Derek is somewhere further inside. He knows that Scott had told him to wait, and he knows that it’s risky, but Derek is running out of time, and everything is made all the worse because no one knows what Peter wants from Derek, or what he has been doing to Derek for the past few days. Stiles makes a snap judgment and runs into the dark of the passage.

 

The ground is covered in sand and pebbles, and in the dark, it’s almost claustrophobic. Stiles runs, suppressing the fear that he’s going to stumble or trip, and wills his feet to be strong and sure, even though his heart is skittering frantically inside his ribcage. When the narrow passage yawns into a stone chamber, he almost heaves a sigh of relief, before he notices a limp, human form, lying on the ground, illuminated only by a flickering oil lamp in a corner. Even in the dim light, it is easy to see that Derek is covered in blood, and that his skin has been methodically shredded by claws.

 

His magic reacts almost without his command, instinctive in the face of Derek’s pain. It leaps to his aid, cocooning Derek’s body in warm golden sparks, and Stiles holds his breath, because at first, Derek doesn’t react. He remains unconscious, and his pulse is so slow as to be invisible. Stiles presses his fingers into Derek’s biceps, relishing the feel of warm, living skin, and hopes that the contact speeds up the healing that he’s initiated. He knows it will leave him weak, but it is better that Derek heals first, because he knows Derek will keep them safe.

 

Sure enough, Derek gasps into consciousness within seconds, coming back to himself all at once, like a landslide. The terrible wounds start sliding shut, so fast that they nauseate Stiles. He hopes no dirt is trapped beneath Derek’s newly healed skin. He hopes Derek is okay.

 

“You okay?” he asks, not making eye contact. The words Derek had said are still echoing in the back of his mind, and even though he knows Derek hadn’t meant them, they’d struck a little too close to home.

 

Derek makes a small, pained sound. “I’m so sorry, Stiles,” he says, instead of answering the question. “I’m so sorry, I don’t know what came over me. You didn’t deserve what I said.”

 

Stiles shakes his head, because that is true. “No,” he agrees. “I didn’t. But we’ll talk about that later. First, are you okay? Because there’s still a fight going on outside—” a chilling scream echoes into the cave they are in, and both of them freeze, panic and fear bubbling into Stiles’ throat.

 

Derek goes pale, and he gasps, “Laura,” and he sounds sure, even though he has no way of knowing. 

 

Stiles can’t believe it – doesn’t want to believe it. “No, no, Derek, she’s fine, everyone’s out there, it must be someone else. Laura will be fine, my dad will keep her safe.”

 

He should have known better than to jinx it, because right at that moment, Derek snarls and digs his claws into Stiles’ tunic, yanking him close, and then shoving Stiles behind his own body. It’s oddly reminiscent of how Scott had reacted when he’d first met Derek in the hut, all those months ago. When Stiles gets over the shock of being manhandled, he turns to see a handsome, dark haired man, leaning against the entrance of the cave, eyes flickering red. Stiles can feel the malevolence rolling off him, in waves.

 

“Peter,” Derek snarls, confirming the man’s identity. “What have you done?”

 

“What should have been done months ago, nephew. I’ve killed Laura, and now I am going to ascend as Alpha.” Peter sounds absolutely nonchalant, and Stiles _hates_ it, and he can’t believe it, but Peter doesn’t look like he’s lying. He instantly grabs Derek, knowing that he’ll need something, some support, in light of what Peter has said.

 

Derek moans, and it’s an ugly sound of grief and hopelessness. His knees go weak and he slumps like a puppet whose strings have been cut. Stiles props him up automatically, one arm wrapped around Derek’s waist. He can’t imagine what it feels like, that Derek didn’t even get a chance to say goodbye to his big sister.

 

“Why, Peter?” Derek asks, voice trembling with anguish and rage. Through the fog in his head, and the panic building in his lungs, Derek notices that Stiles is watching Peter very carefully, but in a different way than expected. Derek knows he will never take his eyes off Peter, so long as either one of them lives, but Stiles is studying Peter as if he is a broken toy, as if something is _wrong_.

 

Stiles is quiet and still. In all the time Derek has spent in Beacon, with Stiles, he has learned that when Stiles is quiet, people start worrying. He turns his attention back to Peter, who has stalked just a little closer while he hadn’t been paying attention. Hope flutters in his chest when he sees that Peter’s eyes aren’t red yet. That means there’s still a chance that he will not ascend. Life with Peter Hale as an Alpha would be horrific.

 

Almost as if he is reading Derek’s mind, Peter starts on his spiel. Even though Derek is prepared for Peter’s venom, it hurts more than he had expected. “Because I’m a better Alpha than Talia ever was, Derek,” Peter spits. “Because Talia made mistakes which I would never have made. Because I’m a better choice for the _pack_. Better than Laura too.” He sounds furious and a little unhinged, and he steps even closer to Derek. “It’s not too late for you, Nephew. You can still submit to me, and I will take care of you, the way Talia never did.”

 

Derek is shaking his head, memories of his mother overwhelming his mind. They should be distracting him; they should be leaving him shaken and broken. But the memories of his mother give him strength, and he does what she would have wanted him to do. He locks his knees and makes eye contact with Peter, doesn’t let himself be cowed.

 

“You’re not my Alpha,” Derek says, confidently. “You never were, and you never will be. Whether you have the pelt or not. Cora and I will _die_ before you’ll become the Alpha of the Hale pack.”

 

Peter snarls, furious, but doesn’t leap at them, doesn’t tackle them to the ground. Only then does Derek notice what Stiles must have noticed minutes ago. There are puddles of blood forming around Peter’s feet, and they smell of death and wolfsbane. “My father,” Stiles whispers, as if that’s an answer to the unasked question.  

 

Peter goes pale; paler than he already is, and he bares his teeth at Stiles in a furious threat “You’re a Stilinski?!” he demands. It’s a non-sequitur, and although Stiles doesn’t answer, both werewolves hear his heart skitter in his chest, answering _yes, yes_.

 

Even Derek, who does not care overmuch for the politics of the realm, knows that Knight Stilinski is the Queen’s favourite knight, and the keeper of the law across the land. And if Stiles is Knight Stilinski’s son, that means…

 

Before Derek can come to any further revelations, Laura appears from the passage, fast and quiet, and tackles Peter to the ground. Her pelt is tattered and torn, and if she weren’t a terrifying sight, it would have looked comical, with the way the werewolf showed through the destroyed pelt.

 

There is no monologue. No distraction. With her claws and her teeth, Peter never even had a chance. It’s over faster than either of them can blink. They hear Peter’s neck snap cleanly, and Derek immediately feels the surge of power into Laura; the pack bonds snapping back into place, between himself, Cora and Laura.

 

Laura is on the ground, covered in blood and bone-tired. She’s still panting, and it clearly takes her effort to sit up, but she’s got a smile on her face, and her eyes are burning red, and she is the undeniable Alpha. “The bastard got me from behind. Knight Stilinski poked him full of wolfsbane tainted holes.” Her phrasing makes Stiles laugh a little, and Derek can’t help but turn towards him like a sunflower towards the sun, through the haze of his exhaustion. Stiles leaves Derek, who can still stand on his own, to tend to Laura. Although she’s healing fast without his help, thanks to the flush of Alpha power, Stiles heals her anyway, exertion leaving him shaking and exhausted.

 

“What did he do to you?” Laura asks Derek, who shakes his head.

 

“Nothing good,” he replies, because there was nothing good about the way Peter hurt him. And he doesn’t want to talk about it either, because Laura really doesn’t need to know what Peter had done to him. Stiles shoots him a look that says he knows exactly what Derek is hiding, but that’s fine. Derek thinks Stiles can know everything about him, and it would still be fine, because Derek wanted to know everything about Stiles.

 

In relative silence, with Stiles propped up between Laura and Derek, they make their way back to the opening of the cave, through the dark passage way that felt like it would never end. They leave Peter’s body behind, not once looking back.

 

The ordeal is finally over, and Derek is shaky with relief.

 

-

 

The aftermath of the battle is as chaotic as the battle itself. Stiles is glad he missed most of it. His magic could have been useful, but he wasn’t built to be a warrior, and his father had respected his choice. He is a strategist, and a healer, and a scholar, he explains, later, when everyone is clean and the only blood in sight is that from the cow they butchered to feed the entire pack.

 

“I was born with magic. I used to tell my father what the Queen was going to have for lunch, days in advance. I used to make flowers grow, and birds sing. No one minded too much, because they were small magicks. They were unseen. Then on Scott’s sixteenth name-day, he was bitten by a rogue alpha.” Laura and Cora react exactly the same way Derek had, when Stiles had first told him this story.

 

“We lived in the Capital. Melissa, his mother, was one of the Palace healers, and Scott was my chosen brother. He turned and attacked her on the first full moon, on the command of the rogue.” Laura hisses in sympathy.

 

“They don’t like rabid wolves in the Capital. Weres are fine. Mostly. But the Capital prefers that any magicks, any special advantages remain out of sight and out of mind. My spark – Deaton – the lore master in the Palace, he’d been teaching me control my whole life. My father didn’t want to risk anyone getting nervous around me. He wanted me to be safe. And I love Scott, and I wanted him to be safe too.”

 

“I revealed my spark when I put up a shield between Scott and Melissa. The only reason I’m alive today is because the Queen was- is fond of me. She exiled me, and ordered me to take Scott along. We set up a small house on a hill in the middle of the plains, so that no one could ambush us without being seen from miles away. Lydia was a politician in the Capital, and she came after us within months. She, too, had been hiding her powers since she was born. And then who knows what happened? I taught Scott control, Scott taught me how to cook, and Lydia taught us both not to be stupid. And people started coming to us from miles away.”

 

“People with different types of magicks, from different places in the world, they could all sense the town we were building, because it was being built on a Nemeton. We couldn’t turn anyone away. Not when they had a better chance of survival with us, than they did without us. Our entire pack consists of wolves bitten by rogues, and abandoned. Kira’s parents were hunted, and she ran away to save her sister. Jackson is some sort of strange lizard thing that can also turn into a wolf? Deaton is still looking for a proper name for him.”

 

“What’s it called?” Cora asks, after a moment of silence. “The place where you live?”

 

“Beacon,” Scott replies, with a smile. “We call it Beacon.”

 

“As Knight, protector, etcetera,” Stiles’ father interrupts, wiping his sword down and revealing shining steel beneath the layers of gore, “I offer Laura and Cora Hale official sanctuary in Beacon under the protection of the Queen etcetera.” He waves the polishing cloth in vague circles, and it tones down what would otherwise have been a weighty declaration. They appreciate it.

 

Knight Stilinski’s voice is smooth and warm, and he looks and walks and talks and _smells_ like Stiles. “I understand that my sons would have my head if I didn’t make it official, though, as far as I was concerned, it was a done thing. Stiles started asking for materials for a new house weeks ago.” All eyes turn to Stiles and he flushes bright and shrugs, trying to pretend he is unaffected by the attention.

 

“I’ve always told Derek. You’re all more than welcome. We have enough to share, and Scott’s always looking for new puppies to play with.” Both Scott and Cora thump him, and exchange delighted grins. Stiles just shakes his head and lets it go, glad that the two packs are interacting so well.

 

For a while, it had looked like their story wouldn’t have a happy ending. He knows that he will  never forget the sight of Derek lying there, beaten and bloody on the floor. He knows he will never forget the way his magic leapt to Derek’s aid, because he couldn’t imagine a world without Derek in it.

 

But although the battle is over, and everyone is relieved to be going home, something is still wrong with Derek, and Stiles is not the only one who has noticed. Even Laura is eyeing him with concern, and Stiles understands. Even though he is completely recovered, Derek looks listless, like someone has leeched all the life out of him. It’s clear that something is burdening Derek, and Stiles wants to relieve him of that burden. He is going to have to talk to Derek the first moment they get a chance.

 

-

 

The first moment Derek gets with Stiles is the following morning, after the rush of packing and moving out. There’s a huge uproar in town, because the Argents have admitted that Kate and Peter were the ones who planned to set fire to the Hale house. Peter had wanted power, and Kate had just hated the Hales, so Peter had locked Kate in the burning house because he didn’t want to share his ill-gotten power.

 

It is horrific, that he’d lost his entire family because of greed and irrational hatred. It is _devastating_ , because his family had been his entire life, and he will miss his mother till the day he died.

 

As if the revelations aren’t enough, everyone seems to be making a concerted effort to give Derek and Stiles a moment alone, and Derek wonders whether it is a blessing or a curse that everyone he knows is so perceptive.

 

Stiles walks quietly beside him for a few long moments, before Derek is finally able to muster the courage to speak.

 

“I understand… if you don’t want me to come back home- to Beacon.” There is not a chance that the others will not hear it, but the way Laura turns around and snarls is excessive, even for her. Derek ignores her and Stiles follows suit. “I said some unforgivable things to you, Stiles. And I said them to hurt you. I’m so sorry,” he says, and it is heartfelt, as sincere as he can possibly be.

 

“I’ve already forgiven you, Derek. I’m not going to lie and say it didn’t hurt, because it did. And when you left it was like you’d taken a part of me with you.” Stiles doesn’t seem to care that there’s at least 10 other supernatural creatures intently listening to their conversation. “You’re an _idiot_ ,” Stiles snaps, raising his voice for the first time, “if you think I don’t want you to come back to Beacon. Don’t be an idiot, Derek.” It sounds a lot like, ‘ _You’re always welcome, Derek._”

 

Derek ducks his head to hide his smile, but it’s the first time he’s felt like smiling in what seems like years. He feels like happiness is glowing through his skin. Stiles is eyeing him sideways, amused and pleased at the same time.

 

“But why?” he asks, after a moment. “Why did you say those things? I know we don’t talk about it, but I would have followed you anywhere, you know that.” He’s not lying. Derek knows; Stiles’ heartbeat is completely steady.

 

“I was jealous. I was so jealous, Stiles. I didn’t understand how – I was so alone. And you and Scott and the pack, you guys took me in. And you gave me a place to stay and I started calling it home, and even then, I was lonely, because my entire family died, and I didn’t – I’m not your oldest friend. I’m not your teacher. I’m not your blood. I’m not your pack. I’m nothing to you. And you were alone too, but you were never lonely. I didn’t understand how to make the loneliness go away. I wanted to be a part of what you had, but I’m nothing.”

 

Stiles huffs, and it sounds almost like amusement. “I wasn’t lonely, _because_ of you, Derek. You’re not _nothing_ to me. You’re definitely… something. To me.” Stiles is more hesitant than Derek has ever seen him before, and it’s adorable. Something of how he feels must show on his face, because Stiles scowls dramatically, belying the blush on his cheeks, and snaps, “Laura was right. You’re an idiot.” And even though Derek’s a little worried that Stiles has been talking to his sister, nothing in the world could stop him from accepting the hand Stiles offers him. Not even the look on Cora’s face.

 

“Your father didn’t offer me sanctuary,” Derek points out, long minutes later, because it has been bothering him since Knight Stilinski made the invitation to Laura and Cora, but not him. Stiles squeezes his hand and flashes a shy grin at him, which is not the reaction he’d been expecting.

 

“It’s because I _may_ have told him that you’re living with me, and that he doesn’t have a say in the matter. Which he doesn’t,” Stiles says, raising his voice a little so his father can hear. He snorts when Knight Stilinski heaves an exasperated sigh and deliberately ignores him. Stiles turns back to him and says, as if there was any question, “if you want to, that is.”

 

Derek can’t help himself. They’re at the very end of the train of people going back to Beacon, and it’ll be minutes before anyone notices that they’ve stopped following – it’s as much privacy as they’re going to get for days.

 

He reels Stiles in, with one hand in his shirt, and kisses him, slow and deep and gentle. Stiles is soft and pliant beneath him, and his body is warm through the thin tunic he’s wearing. He melts into Derek’s arms, luxuriating in the kiss, which is slowly turning heated.

 

Derek slips his arm around Stiles’ waist to keep him upright when he stumbles, the way Stiles has done for him. He runs his fingers through Stiles’ hair, the way Stiles has done for him. And when he draws back and Stiles is still, his eyes closed and his heart pounding furiously in his chest, his breath coming out in clouded puffs in the cold forest, and his lips slick and swollen from kissing, Derek leans in and kisses him again.

 

If everything went according to plan, Derek would be kissing him for the rest of his life.

 

**Author's Note:**

> **Epilogue**
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> “So… was that a yes?”
> 
> “God, Stiles—”
> 
> “Mmmmph! Derek! You can’t kiss me every time you want me to shut up!”
> 
> “Watch me.”
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> Comments and Kudos are love <3


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